Macbeth's Soliloquy
by Septimus Butters
Summary: Macbeth learns of the prophecy that he will be king and is corrupted by his desire for power. Meanwhile, his loyal friend, Banquo, cares too much for Macbeth to let him embark on his dark journey alone, and is sucked into a terrible plot. In a whirlwind of treachery and revelations, Macbeth and Banquo's friendship is tested to the limit.


**I recently read Macbeth, and was blown away by it! I wanted to explore Macbeth and Banquo's friendship, and contemplate an alternate outcome to Macbeth learning of the witch's prophecy. What if it didn't all have to end so tragically?**

Macbeth's Soliloquy.

"So fair and foul a day I have not seen," broached Macbeth.

"Aye." Responded Banquo, adjusting his kilt. "You were really brave on the battle field today, matey!" He added.

"Thanks blad." Wheezed Macbeth, "Not like that battyman, the Thane of Cawdor. I'm unfriending him when I get home!"

"Harsh!" shouted Banquo, subtly checking out Macbeth's leather-clad behind whilst pretending to pick his teeth.

Suddenly, there was a tremendous buzzing sound from Macbeth's back pocket.

"Sorry!" he yodelled, whipping out his Blackberry Bold 9900. "It's the Missus!"

"Hi babe."

"_Where are you? You're missing The Voice!"_

"Sozzers. Had to fight the Thane of Cawdor."

"_What?! I just liked his post! I'mma unlike it right away. Don't worry; I'll put The Voice on planner for you."_

"Cheers. See you later."

Macbeth turned to Banquo.

"What can you do, eh?" he grinned. Banquo glared at him, his fuzzy face clouded with jealousy.

"Nice phone!" remarked Banquo sarcastically. "Someone's obviously getting a good income."

Macbeth frowned. "Are ye having money troubles, valiant cousin?" he enquired "This credit crunch is affecting all of us. I had to sell my PS3 on eBay to pay for my new I-pad. I seriously miss Black-Ops."

Banquo started to cry. "Then we can't play together anymore at the weekends! I was beating your high score!" He whined.

"Och, the greatest is behind!" Chanted Macbeth. "I cannae wait to download Internet Explorer 9! Fibre optic broadband rocks!"

"We can Skype each other much more easily with IE9!" Banquo said, slightly calmer at the thought of a speedier internet connection.

The two witch-doctors arrived at the glade where they'd tied up their horses. Macbeth placed his shield, sword and waterskin in his pack and clambered into the saddle, pulling out his I Pod.

"You like Skrillex?" he asked Banquo.

"It's alright. I prefer James Blunt." Banquo said, not wanting to admit he secretly listened to Miley Cyrus.

"I love it when the synthesisers kick in!" Macbeth screeched, grooving in his saddle while the bass pumped loudly.

"Yeah. Well, see you later, good sire!" Banquo muttered, cantering off into the woods.

Macbeth followed, singing at the top of his lungs.

Macbeth left his horse in the stables and ran inside, not wanting to miss the Scottish premier league finals.

"Glamis versus Cawdor!" he roared, charging into the front room, where Lady Macbeth was playing 'World of Warcraft' on her laptop.

"Shut up! I'm trying to do a quest!" Lady Macbeth grumbled as her husband sat down on the flagstones, switching on their brand new plasma screen 3D TV.

"Is there any food left?" Macbeth asked.

"There's some stew left in the cauldron, and if you don't want that there are some pot noodles in the cellar."

"Mmm." Macbeth hummed, searching through the channels to find the footy.

"Who are ya? Who are ya?" He bellowed. Underneath his breeches and chaps, he was wearing his lucky 'Team Glamis' underpants which Lady Macbeth had customised for him on . He kicked his hunting boots across the room.

"Be careful, you dumb-arse!" Lady Macbeth squawked. "Lady Macduff just MSN'ed me. She says the Thane of Cawdor is a traitor, and he's gonna be executed!"

"Meh." Said Macbeth, totally uninterested. "Has anyone reblogged me Tumblr post? The joke about the monks and the Viking invaders?"

"No. But someone commented 'LOL'."

"Grrr. I hate Tumblr. It's so addictive." Macbeth huffed, pulling out his 3D glasses to watch the football.

Macbeth was just enjoying the opening credits when, once again, his Blackberry Bold 9900 whirred to life, vibrating so violently that it ripped through his breeks and made his 3D glasses fall off.

"Fuck!" Macbeth screamed, pulling out the silly device. "Pause that for me, love!"

"What are your tidings?" he snapped into the phone, furious that he couldn't get a minutes peace to watch the Big Game.

From the other end of the line came a scratching and bubbling sound.

"Hail Macbeth, Thane of Glamis!" Came a blatantly foreign voice. Macbeth was puzzled.

"Who's speaking?"

"Hail Macbeth, Thane of Cawdor!" Came a second shriek.

"Piss off. I'm not the Thane of Cawdor. How did you get this number?"

"All hail Macbeth, who shalt be king hereafter" Came a third drone. Macbeth scratched his head.

"Is this a scam? I knew I shouldn't have had us registered with Yellow Pages. Bloody cold callers! This isn't about horse insurance, is it? Because I think you'll find that I'm covered, and I'm very happy with the deal!" Macbeth ranted.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

"It's probably the Jehovah's witnesses again!" muttered Lady Macbeth, reluctantly heaving her fat body to the door.

In fact, it was Banquo.

"Hi!" he sang, bustling into the house. He was carrying a sack full of kale and other essentials, which were spilling all over the floor.

"You were out when you got your Ocado delivery, so I picked it up for you!" he rodomontade, setting the foul produce down on the table.

Lady Macbeth scowled and chucked the sack into the fire. "Be quiet. My noble thane is on the phone!"

Macbeth gave Banquo a two-fingered salute and put his hand over the phone. "Get over here! Help me deal with these cold-callers."

Banquo picked up the phone. "Speak then to me," he vocalised.

"Hail!" said the mysterious voice. "Hail noble Banquo…not as happy as Macbeth, yet much happier".

"Whatevs," Banquo rolled his eyes and hung up. "Damn telemarketing scam. Everyone knows everyone else's business these days!"

"Speaking of knowing everybody's business, Donalbain Tumblr-raped me! He wrote that I was deeply in love with Lennox, and everyone knows I hate him!"

"Oh," Banquo squeaked, going red. "I…I…"

"What's up, brethren?"

"I thought that was you."

"You cream-faced loon! I would never broach such things. But it doesn't matter, because I sent him a load of spam, including a picture of Duncan on the toilet and Rosse in the nude."

"How did you get those pictures?" Banquo shrieked with horror.

"Photoshop CS5. It's brilliant! It can export any file type."

"Oh, I remember. The sales assistant in Curry's told us all about it." Banquo snorted, whipping out some white powder from his pocket.

"Fancy some drugs?" Banquo suggested, "They will help thine concentration."

"No thanks. Och, look, the crowd have invaded the pitch! They're probably just bitter because the Thane of Cawdor is being executed."

"Have you seen all the haters that are posting on his Wall? Ouch." Banquo said. He was sympathetic towards the Thane of Cawdor, because they had been victims of the same phone hacking scandal by the local bard. The bard was driven out of town.

"Nay, he deserved it." Macbeth laughed heartily as a dozen wild hogs ran onto the pitch and began knocking down the unruly mob. Some town guards began to taze the hogs to try and stop any further disruption.

"This is better than Harry Hill's TV burp!" The paunchy Thane chortled, his HeatHolders covered in hay from the inside of his boots.

Banquo pulled a goblet of ale from the table and plonked himself down next to Macbeth. He noticed a stray party popper tucked behind the sofa cushions and snatched it up for his own use.

Macbeth booed as the Glamis striker was given a red card. "Get off!" he shouted, throwing his bowl of stew through the TV screen. "The ref's blind! Who hired him? This is a bloody joke!"

"Calm down, mate!" urged Banquo. "That's the third TV this week! You'll have to start doing overtime to pay for all these new flat-screens!"

"Duncan can keep his bloody overtime!" Macbeth roared. "He won't be in charge for long!"

Banquo's eyes burst out of their sockets. He turned purple and began to hyperventilate so violently he looked akin to a crashing train. "You should not say such things about our noble king, God on Earth!" he vocalised.

"What do I care?" Macbeth belched, spitting on his wife. "Hahah!"

"Speaking of Duncan," Lady Macbeth broached, heaving her glutes from the sofa, "Duncan is coming for dinner and a sleepover tonight!"

"WHAT?! That doddery old shit, I can't stand him! He should just piss off back home to the sewers!"

"Now, now, babe. Keep it real." Lady Macbeth said soothingly, patting Macbeth's moobs in a comforting fashion. Banquo seethed with jealousy.

Macbeth huffed and grumbled, but eventually agreed that it was only for one night.

"As long as Banquo can stay too." He muttered, folding his arms.

"Okay."

"YAY!" The two lads screamed, bumping tummies enthusiastically. "This is gonna be awesome!"

"Calm down, boys." Sighed Lady Macbeth. "What's the password for our Wi-Fi again? Duncan will probably want to tap in." She closed her MacBook Air and went to make Duncan's bed in the spare room.

"I think it's 'Qwerty,'" called Macbeth, blushing as Banquo raised his eyebrows at his friend's unoriginal and low-security password. "What? It's easy to remember."

"Whatever, mate," said Banquo. "Look I think I see Duncan and his guard."

The two stout noblemen craned their necks out the window to see a huge posse of horseman flanked around the king and his two sons making its way over the hills.

5 minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

Macbeth sat down on the sofa, grabbing a Bacardi Breezer. "Woman?" he hollered "The guests are here. Feel like letting them in?"

Lady Macbeth charged down the stairs from the spare room, puffing and panting. She opened the door and King Duncan rolled into Macbeth's house on his Dareway.

"Greetings to all!" the old monarch chortled. "Such an honour to be in the home of our very own Thane of Cawdor!" he thumped Macbeth on the chest in a manly display of gratitude.

Macbeth frowned. "lol whut?" he honked, spilling his drink all down his tunic. "You mean Thane of Glamis, man!"

Duncan beamed. "Not anymore, mate! The old Cawdor is six feet under, so I'm bequeathing the title to you!"

Banquo spluttered, spraying his piña colada across the room.

Macbeth punched the air like a rebellious football star. "Yeah!" he crowed "That's what I'm talking about!"

The entire posse of guards cheered enthusiastically and then charged off for a game of Wii sports in the games room in the north tower.

Donalbain slunk over to Macbeth's mini-fridge, hoping to scope some delicious snacks such as Fridge Raiders or Rustler burgers, when Macbeth tapped him on the shoulder.

"Tumblr rape me again, and I'll tell everyone about that picture you posted on Myspace"

"Hey now, buddy. Myspace is defunct! No one goes on it anymore, not since Facebook..."

"Zuckerberg can kiss my ass. That picture is still live on the World Wide Web, and if you dare..."

"You should change your password! First it was 'Macbeth', then it was 'qwerty!' They're pretty easy to guess."

"STFU!" Macbeth roared, snatching some pretzels from Donalbain's back pocket and stuffing them into his gob. "See you later, ROFL."

Then he scurried off, grabbed Lady Macbeths Macbook Air and quickly changed his Tumblr password to 'poo', his old standby.

"Hehehe." He snorted, reblogging a picture from 'Teenderp' and then from' icanhascheeseburger.'

"Oi, Cawdor!" hollered Duncan. "Get over here! I brought my karaoke machine if you want to jam."

Macbeth huffed. "Who has a karaoke machine these days?" he muttered. "Why not just go on Lips? It's so much better." He reluctantly went over to the living room and joined the karaoke.

3 Hours Later:

Duncan had gone to bed and Lady Macbeth was hoovering up the crumbs and dropped crisps with her new Dyson Cyclonic. Macbeth was sprawled out on the sofa, in a sulk because he had lost a game of Lips tragically to Angus and couldn't deal with it.

"Cheer up, love." Said Lady Macbeth, lobbing a Cheesy Wotsit at her brooding hubby. "I know what will make you feel better. We can get you the title of king tonight, like the cold callers promised."

Macbeth scratched his chin thoughtfully. "How? What are you talking about?"

Lady Macbeth grinned deviously. "Oh. Well, we can bump Duncan off. If you think you're man enough."

Macbeth spluttered indignantly, leaping of the sofa and flexing to prove his manliness. "Of course! I would give anything to get rid that prehistoric old wasteman. How do we do it?"

The stringent Sheila patted her weighty caboose slyly. "Clock him over the head with a drill? Suffocate him with his Snuggee? You're supposed to be the warrior. You figure it out."

"I shall think of something." Said Macbeth. "I'm going to the toilet. I need a dump." He sauntered out.

Macbeth slipped into the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the light. Suddenly, he stacked over something big and warm, falling headfirst into the toilet with a splash.

The Geberit Aqua-Clean hoses began to spray him in the face, as he squawked and struggled for his life, his feet jammed against the cistern.

"HELP! I'M DROWNING! I'M GOING TO DIE IN THE TOILET!" The poor thane screamed against the torrent of water, thoroughly panicked.

Suddenly, there was a groan of "What the actual fuck?" and the light clicked on. Ross dragged Macbeth from his watery prison, his bare, hairy, red arms covered in love bites. From the floor, a naked Lennox was glaring up at Macbeth, his hair mussed up over his scarlet phizog.

"Why don't you knock next time?" the closet homosexual raged, stamping his feet.

"I needed a shit! Sorry if you guys were too busy snogging each other's faces off to notice!" Macbeth wept, shocked by his near death experience.

"Sorry man. I just didn't want my wife to find out." Ross quipped, shrugging his rolls in a nonchalant manner. Lennox winked lustily at him, gyrating suavely. Then suddenly Macbeth leapt to his feet and chomped down on Lennox's chin with a shrieking cry. Ross seized his hot affair in his arms and dragged him away from Macbeths drooling jowls.

"Get the hell off, you idiot! Get your own toyboy!"

"Maybe I will!" Macbeth sneered, punching Ross in the crotch. "Hahahaha. You'll never impregnate Lennox now!"

After mooning the two shocked thanes for a final insult, Macbeth stormed out, cackling with laughter.

Macbeth snuck around the corridors, scratching his pits before colliding with Banquo in an explosion of sweet and sour noodles.

"Holy crap, Macbeth!" Banquo squawked as a gallon of Chinese sauce went pouring down his shirt. Macbeth grabbed him by the collar.

"Quick, I must tell you about my plan!"

"What pl-" Banquo was dragged into a nearby room, which was full of Macbeth's Hornby train sets. In there, Macbeth told Banquo all about his plot to murder Duncan.

"You can't kill Dunc, brethren! He's safe." Banquo protested. Duncan had never failed to get them free tickets to Glastonbury, and Banquo didn't want to miss out on that because Duncan was dead.

"Look, you silly cow. If we kill Duncan, then I can be king! And you can be the kings BFF!"

"I don't know..." Banquo said.

_Being the kings BFF would be pretty awesome. Tumblr fame would only be a click away! But killing the King is pretty extreme. _

"So, what do you think?" Macbeth inquit, raising his brows at Banquo.

Banquo moulded his loose cheeks with his hands as he considered his friend's proposition.

"I think… maybe… if we could do it without being found out."

"Well, obviously!" hooted Macbeth, "And I've got the perfect plan for how to do it!"

Half an hour later, Banquo was squatting on the landing outside Duncan's room, tying a time-bomb to a Hornby Beamer 044 and placing it on a strategically placed train track running into Duncan's room that he and Macbeth had set up before Duncan had gone to bed.

Suddenly, Banquo's I-Phone 4S fired off again, blaring out tunage at 1000 decibels. Banquo ripped the offending device from his pocket and shouted into it.

"WHAT THE HELL, Macbeth?!" He screamed. "You thought it would be a good idea to call me now? I'm at a critical stage in the ASSASINATION PLAN! I'm right outside Duncan's bloody DOOR!"

"Sorry! Sorry, mate!" Came Macbeth's voice, "Just testing. All clear round this end! Did you set up the bomb?"

"I'm doing it now!" Banquo hissed back.

Through the phone came a loud straining noise and a splash.

"What's going on?" Banquo enquired quizzically.

"Oh, I'm actually on the toilet! I should never have eaten those burritos!" Macbeth grunted. "It reeks in here!"

"Ew, Macbeth! TMI!" Banquo squawked, "I'm hanging up."

"Whatever, Banquo." Macbeth sang, chucking the phone into the bin and whooping. "SLAM DUNK!"

Upstairs, Banquo quickly finished setting up the train set and went to wait for Macbeth in a nearby cupboard. A few minutes later, Macbeth came crashing in, sending a bottle of Cilit Bang spilling all over the floor.

"Hi, Banquo!" he called, as though surprised that his friend was there. "Can I press the button to detonate the bomb?"

"Well…" Banquo considered how much of an idiot his friend was.

"Please? Please? PLEASE BANQUO?!" Macbeth bellowed, throwing himself on the floor.

"Alright!"

"YAY!" Macbeth seized the button.

"WAIT, YOU COMPLETE BUM! Not yet!" Banquo ripped the button from Macbeth's sweaty paws.

"What? Why?!" Macbeth protested. "You hog everything! I hate you!"

Banquo slapped Macbeth accross the face. "BECAUSE, if you detonate it now, WE will be blown sky-high!" he explained slowly, gesturing to the bomb-loaded model train at his feet.

Macbeth scratched his head. "Oh, right. Good thinking, Batman!"

"Speaking of Batman, did you catch the _Dark Knight Rises_ at Cineworld last week? I totally ship Bane and Batman!" chattered Banquo.

"Naw. But I did see the _Avengers Assemble_ movie. I ship Nick Furry and Black Window!"

"Black WIDOW, you tool! And Nick FURY. Get your ears cleaned out!" Banquo rolled his eyes at his soulmate's idiocy. "Anyway, let's get on with it!"

"Yes!" Said Macbeth, ripping off his trousers. Banquo's eyes bulged. Awkwardly, he crouched down to start the train on its path to assassination, his fuzzy head perfectly level with Macbeth's crown jewels. Banquo wobbled with passion, his lardy thighs pulsating as he did squats. Macbeth joined in, pumping his buns to the beat. Banquo couldn't take it anymore. Using a squat to propel himself forwards, he launched himself at Macbeth and clamped him in a passionate Dundee. Macbeth looked startled for a moment and then returned Banquo's kiss, making whale noises in pleasure. The two repressed chubbers writhed and smooched for several minutes, until their nest of lust was broken apart by a repeating clunking sound.

"Banquo, your false teeth are clattering!" Macbeth whined, prodding him in the boing loins. Banquo blushed with pleasure and then scowled.

"I don't wear false teeth! I'm twenty seven!" he said.

"Oh." Said Macbeth, sounding disappointed. "Well, what could it be?"

The pair of love birds peeked their heads out into the corridor and then saw something terrible. The model train was whirring and crashing repeatedly into Duncan's closed door.

"Bugger!" shrieked Macbeth, bursting into tears.

"Never mind, Macbeth. We'll just have to go and open the door." Banquo sighed. He couldn't believe the plan had failed so epically.

The pair of tubbers snuck along the corridor, scratching their arses. Banquo seized the door handle and wrenched it open, and they were greeted with a horrible sight.

Duncan had his Calvin Klein y-fronts around his ankles and was masturbating passionately, gurning like Jim Carrey on steroids. He was hunched over his brand new Ipad 4, on which he was watching porn: specifically, three people banging in a paddling pool full of yogurt. He had a small tub of fromage frais which he was dunking his manhood into repeatedly and panting like Macbeth playing Just Dance. The sound of a tinny voice from the I Pad revealed that he was exhibiting his activities on Live webcam.

"I'M GOING TO BE SICK!" screamed Banquo, leaping into Duncan's wardrobe to escape the horror. Duncan looked up and noticed the two rangy beggars. He was enraged and leapt up to try and strangle Macbeth with his yogurt-y hands. Macbeth screeched and slapped Duncan in the chin. Banquo, noticing that his regal bang was in danger, leapt out from the cupboard.

"Take this!" he bellowed, pulling the party popper from his pocket and popping it in Duncan's face. Duncan choked and released Macbeth. He went blue in the face and then keeled over into a pile of his own dung.

The king of Scotland was dead.

"Hooray!" chanted Macbeth, thrusting in triumph. "We did it!"

Banquo looked shocked. "I killed the king." He gasped, staring at the empty party-popper in his hands in terror. "It must have been his heart. He has a weak heart."

"Well, peak times for him. Who cares? I'm King! Good job, buddy!" Gassed Macbeth, caressing his own buttocks and peering at Duncan's screen. "This is whack. I didn't know Duncan was a dunker. Eh, each to his own."

"It takes one to know one!" retorted Banquo, pocketing the pot of yogurt that Duncan had been using until moments before his death.

"Let's get out of here." Said Banquo worriedly, grabbing Macbeth's hand and racing for the door. "We don't want to draw attention to this situation."

The two contract-killers rushed down the corridors, desperate to get away from the scene of their bloody and brutal murder. As they legged it, Macbeth suddenly remembered something: "Hey! I didn't get to press the button!" He wailed indignantly, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the detonator.

"MACBETH! NO!" Screamed Banquo, just as Macbeth jammed his chunky finger onto the button.

A huge explosion rumbled through Macbeth's home as Duncan's room was obliterated by the train-bomb. Rubble and fire blasted behind Macbeth and Banquo and a huge "BOOM" shook the entire floor.

Macbeth and Banquo ran to the end of the garden and dove into the Anderson shelter. Inside there were lots of sachets of instant porridge – ten million, to be precise. Macbeth knocked the porridge to the ground as a makeshift bed and launched his fat buns onto it, dragging Banquo down with him into the oatten nest.

"Er. What are you doing?" Banquo asked.

"Time for bed!" Macbeth screeched, covering himself with paper sachets. Banquo found the sight of Macbeth lying there, naked except for a few scraps of his team Glamis underpants, extremely disgusting. He turned away. Macbeth wheedled tunelessly and guffed before going to sleep.

Banquo was disappointed. "Wake up, Macbeth!" He whined, shaking him violently. "We need to talk!"

Macbeth trumped grottily. "Fine."

Banquo pulled out his notepad. "I wrote down all the issues I wanted to discuss."

"Fine."

"Firstly, I want to talk about us. What's going on with us?" Banquo rooed.

Macbeth shamelessly emptied his bowels all over the notepad. "What do you mean?"

Banquo frowned at the mound of messy dung covering his important document. "You know what I mean. In the cupboard… the kiss."

Macbeth's eyes twinkled. "Banquo. I've been hiding my feelings for so long, but, I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You're my guardian angel."

Banquo clasped Macbeth's hands in his. "Let's go for a spaghetti dinner before anyone wakes up and finds what we did to Duncan and the spare room."

"After this!" said Macbeth, seizing Banquo and slam-dunking him onto the makeshift bed.

"Oh, Macbeth! I crave the sensation of your sweet appendage inside me!" Banquo wailed, peeling apart his buns so that Macbeth would have a clear pathway to heavenly ecstasy.

"The greatest is behind!" Macbeth roared, pushing himself inside his former bro.

After hours of passionate banging, the couple swung into the 69 position and slurped themselves to the max.

The sound of dismayed wails from the castle broke the lovers apart, as Lady Macbeth sobbed "The King is dead!"

"Let's get out of here, bang buddy! Time for that spaghetti dinner!" Macbeth swung Banquo into his arms and carried him to Pasta Hut.

Meanwhile, the three weird sisters sat around their cauldron, cackling and using vibrators.

"Hehehe." One of them lolled, peering into the cauldron. "Not for long!"

In Pasta Hut, the sexual tension was raging. The sight of the penne pasta tubes had Macbeth seriously aroused and Banquo was the same. Halfway through the meal, they slipped off to the bathrooms.

While they were penetrating each other with rolled-up pizza, there was a sudden cracking sound from the ceiling. The two entwined lovers watched in horror as the ceiling collapsed onto them.

In the end, they were doomed to perish in the toilet.

Fin.

**I guess it did end in tragedy after all, but the difference is that both Macbeth and Banquo died in the arms of the one they loved. True love and friendship will always prevail. I can't believe that more people don't ship Manquo, it's so obviously implied that they are way more than just friends!**

**Love, Septimus xxx**


End file.
